


Myths Made Real

by 1V1



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asgardian Reader (Marvel), Cruelty, Exiled Reader, F/M, Fate & Destiny, God Complex, Guilt, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Love/Hate, Magic-Users, Miðgarðr | Midgard, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Power Dynamics, Rebirth, Runaway Reader, Sadism, Self-Denial, Soft Love, Tragic Romance, Violent Passion, angst ending, half breed, Ásgarðr | Asgard (realm), Útgarðar | Utgard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-05-19 22:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1V1/pseuds/1V1
Summary: The fulfillment of prophecies is never as clear cut as one expects. Supposedly, he and Thor would start Ragnarok. And they had, just not in a manner which was evil or ending the days for all of eternity. Loki knows that there are several prophecies of Asgard that remain unfilled. One, is that he and Thor would wed. Thor, to a shield maiden, he, to a healer. Another is that he would rule Jotunheim. Which he technically could do, but had been somewhat putting off for the last oh, 5 or so years. As Thor rebuilds Asgard in Norway, he builds Jotunheim with the intention to one day rule and from his seat in Utgard- conquer the nine realms. Yet the day his brother welcomes in the remnants of Asgard by way of half mortal children, a lone exile remains. A single, sparkling gem of brilliant suffering in her tragic outcast status- a woman who's very magic can shift the very branches of Yggdrasil and forge paths between worlds.He could have lied to spare her her suffering. But he didn't lie, for once in his life, and he is left to wonder if this, like Ragnarok, is yet another motion from the hands of fate.





	1. The Lone Exile of 1000 Years

You grasped the snow under your body, desperate to cling to something, anything as the man behind you roughly humped your ass. Neither of you were bare. Both of you were dressed in warrior leathers, both armored and armed with Asgardian steel and gold. Yet the wild of Jotunheim had drawn out something in you both. In you, a heat, low, coiling in your belly demanding to fight and claw and kill any male nearby, to gut them and cry out ‘I will not be ruled by man!’ A dark defiance in the face of biology, in the face of submission and subjugation.  
The man who thrusted his cock against your backside growled, and you felt the need to fight diminish, replaced with an unexpected pleasure, an unwanted thrill of being dominated, of being claimed. But only by him, only by a man who managed to best you and establish that he could fight you and win. You snarled, wanting to defy this act of claiming you, but as he ground out your name into the biting cold wind of Jotunheim, you allowed him to do what he was born to do, what you were born to be. To Rule, and to be ruled.

  
***  
One Year Prior  
***

“Your Majesty.” You said in a hushed reverence, holding back the heart wrenching fear and hope so deeply buried in your chest. Thor, King Thor, the God of Thunder who was establishing New Asgard on the rocky shores of Norway had opened the newly formed ‘country’ to those of Asgardian decent. So long as you had Asgardian blood, great enough to have influenced your mortal life, you would be welcomed. Originally, Thor had sent it out in hopes of finding the once exiles of Midgard, those who’d fled Odin and his war, his hard and unyielding rule. Criminals would be granted a second chance, (with few exceptions such as those of Lorilei), but what Thor had not expected were children of the exiles. Half blooded Asgardians, lost from years of thinking themselves other, living in fear and hiding and torment of forever being not human enough for Midgard, not Asgardian enough to be taken to Asgard.  
Out of 57 odd pure Asgardians that came to Thor to make good on his offer, the new king found 274 half blooded children. Some from exiles, some from dalliances, some from just plain ignorance. Each one was tested, each one, matched up with their closest living relative. You were number 239. Every single half Asgardian before you had their results read out loud, their relative coming to embrace them, acknowledge them and welcome them into the home they all had wished to one day be a part of. As the King approached you, hope swelled in your chest, crippling tight as your eyes flickered to the gathered peoples of Asgard, the clusters of refugee families, so broken from Ragnarok but also so proud, so strong, so brave- You would find them, your family, your people, and finally, finally, after over 1000 years of living in secret, in shadows, you’d have a home.

“238- Alfred Jensen.” The man to your left took a step forward, his entire body thrumming as you were, hope burning so deeply in your chest you could see the same in his.  
“Your kin- Sigurd Leifsdottir, and Wilheim Leifson.” The two, siblings from their appearances perhaps, stepped forward from the throng of pure blooded Asgardians. Love in their faces, happiness- They had lost so many, and now, they had found another. You watched them run and embrace, laughing, smiling crying loudly to each other, uncaring to those watching, simply because everyone understood. They all wanted the same thing- to find a family. To become whole.

239\. Your number was next. You looked to Thor, and smiled. 1086 years old. Give or take a few- and finally, years of praying, begging, hoping to one day enter Asgard, to be able to call yourself Asgardian, to have a place where you belonged. A place you could call home.  
Yet the King looked at you and you saw it. The flicker of recognition, of sorrow, of regret.  
“240. Maria Santos.” Thor’s voice boomed, and a confusion filled the glen where the ceremony took place. The woman to your right stepped forward, focused entirely on the king.  
“Your kin- Herald Mangusson.” They ran, they embraced, they cried tears of joy and hope. Yet you remained in your place, lost and confused. You looked at Thor, the King, the one who had opened the doors to Asgard, who you risked the human life, the mortal lie of your existence to come and meet so you could finally not have to hide who you were in fear any longer.  
He looked away from you, turned his gaze from your own beseeching ones.  
The numbers went on. You were left alone, standing in the grass, looking to Asgard, the people, the place, the hope of a home and the promise of being free and welcomed and accepted and belonging.  
You watched as the last number was read, the last family re-united.  
“239- Daughter of Amora.” You looked up at the king who shone like sunlight, golden and glowing with his godhood.  
“I am sorry.” He said, and you felt the chain of mortality reaching, the men who had come from the United Nations to take count of the inhuman, alien born Midgardians who would be joining Asgard. A guise, a ruse. They were here not for them, but for you. The lone half Asgardian.  
“Asgard is closed to you and your kin.” A hammer- nails in a coffin. 1000 years of waiting, hoping, praying, begging, dreaming. Crushed with a single blow. Thor said nothing else, turning and walking away as the faces of Asgard looked at you- confusion in those like you, half born- you knew so many of them, the few who you could share your secret burden with. Those who all you had seen born and grow. The eldest of them, the sister of them all- Their teacher, the girl and later woman who sheltered so many of them through the years and guided them on how to fit in and how to mask themselves as mortal, to hide their golden godhood and immortal blood.  
The faces of those from the Asgard before Ragnarok- contempt, fear, some even twisted in hate a disgust. Amora the enchantress, a woman so loathed none wished her well. A woman so mired in her evil that Asgard would turn away a daughter who never knew her, a daughter who never even knew her own father- who’d been raised by witches as a babe, sorceresses as a girl, and by priestesses as a woman. A half-Asgardian who had lived 1000 years trying to find her way home.

A home, that shut it’s doors to her, because her blood was not wanted, even by a people who lay on the verge of extinction. 

Your wail echoed as you fought to control the gut wrenching sorrow, the howl of misery and broken hope ringing into the empty meadow as agents came with drug laced darts, to secure you, contain you, to take you away and use you for things you’d escaped before.  
You had survived two wars that had consumed the world. You had survived plagues, conquests, empires and inquisitions, you had remained unchain and unbound through the burning and sacking of cities and great libraries, you had lived through the worst of mankind’s hubris. You had escaped the clutches of dark, sinister groups that ran in shadows. You had once faced a man with no skin on his face, red from blood and marred by infinite power. You had never been a tool, a puppet on strings.  
You spun, pushing them back with sedir, your heart frantic in your chest as you realized the cost of your lost cause. 

Your face was known, you old life had to burn to dust and ash. You were the half-asgardian unwanted by Asgard. The lone exile. You looked at the cameras sent from media the world over.  
Magic is wild when coupled with emotions. Intense and powerful, it draws from the soul itself and yours was in agony. The cameras burned, lens shattered in your mournful rage. No death as you fled, legs carrying you to the nearest waypoint, the crossroads of the glen’s edge. You walked paths between worlds before and you could no longer remain on Midgard.  
Exiled from Asgard, to be hunted on Midgard.

You ran to the pathway, jumping into it’s destination without hesitation, vanishing from the world of men. 

All the while, green eyes of the God who had been the one to tell Thor the truth of your heritage, felt regret. Thor hated Amora for her crimes, and she would never be welcome for a long age. Yet as Loki watched you fight from the various agents determined to bring you into custody, to make you into their weapon, their dog to heel, he regret. You did not harm them. You fled from them, your pain and sorrow so evident he felt his own heart rippling in understanding. He should have lied to Thor, spared you your needless suffering. How easy to botch the bloodwork and magic, mask it. He should have lied.

Loki was cruel, and just as bitter and vindictive of Amora as Thor.  
But unlike Thor, he knew the pain of exile. The agony of a hope for belonging only to be denied. He watched you run, watched you twist the magic of the world tree, bend it’s branches to guide your way. Then, he watched, heart heavy with understanding as you cast yourself to the will of Yggdrasil. He watched as you flung yourself into the void, having no one to catch you or reach out to stop your fall.

He could have lied, to spare you this, all of this. Yet he didn’t. He knew what the truth would bring. So Loki watched. He turned his back and entered Asgard with his brother, mind going over it again and again. He could have, should have, lied. He was a god of Lies, Loki Silvertongue, it was a part of his nature, the mantle of his very being. He should have easily, been able to lie. 

_So why didn’t he?_


	2. The King's Ward of Jotunheim

You snarled as he shoved you into the snow with one hand, blue fingers keeping you still under his otherworldly strength. Puffs of hot hair left your mouth to mist in front of you, and the sharp hiss of shock filled his ears as he managed to rip your garments off your lower half. Your cunt, wet and hot, bare in the icy wind it made you shake from the shock of the temperature. Yet as your captor pulled the remnants of your clothes from you and you trashed in his hold, you thrilled and raged in equal measure against the actions being taken against you.   
Strong, he’d sire such powerful children. Ruthless, he was violating you, your trust- You trusted him to give you what you wanted. You needed to run, to fight this decent into madness, this blind trajectory into submission. Yet as you felt the warm length of his cock rub your bare inner thigh, you pushed against his hips, eager to have him rocking against you, inside you. You wanted and hated this need for him. This primal craving to fight to dominate those weaker, to be dominated by only the stronger. Wet pussy lips slathered his thick cock with your desire and hate- his groan at the heat of you made your body clench in anticipation.  
“You’re steaming with how hot with need you are my little fox.” He was bigger than normal men. Human men, aesir men- He needed to prepare you, ready you- lest he break you in half; your virginity taken in blood and pain otherwise.  
“I wonder if your womb can even take all of my seed.”

  
***  
One Year Prior  
***  


You had ended up in another realm. Not entirely uncommon when you walked the branches of Yggdrasil. Usually, the paths would lead to different places on the same realm, but the ones like that had sprouted near the gates of New Asgard were often gambles with where they might lead. This one lead to a cold place, dark skies and swirling artic storms crashing down over the mountains into the hard glacial valley.  
Jotunheim, land of giants.  
It likely had grown due to Prince’s, (or rather here, the King’s), proximity to the newly reformed Asgard. Years ago you’d learned that the more tied to the realm, the more likely a branch would grow to aid that being. Once, when you’d been a child, you’d stumbled along on a branch that left you almost in a lush forest, a golden garbed knight with kind eyes looking at you at the path’s end, telling you to turn home, lest you be taken by the King’s men.

Heimdall had been both kind and unkind that day. He’d spared you, a half-asgardian child Odin’s wrath at crossing into Asgard from an unprotected portal. Yet he’d also denied you the one time you’d managed to set foot on Asgard. So, on the branch, in the middle of the pathway between worlds, not yet a grown woman, just a child dressed in the garb of a peasant had turned in shock at being discovered… and never tried to go back. You never knew why you’d been barred somehow from crossing over to Asgard after that. Perhaps it was simply that Asgard was so well protected. Perhaps it was a spell to keep any half blood away. Or maybe, the tree itself had always changed your path.  
The tree was a living thing after all. It wasn’t unheard of for the branch to grow, and change course.

Yet being on Jotunheim was not ideal. You had just fought off men and women from earth, you old life no doubt to turn to dust. Outed as a half Asgardian, there would be no one who’s allow you to live a normal life, no government that would take you in- not when Thor, the avenger, the king, had turned you away. And if someone did?  
You remembered what the war had been like. What kind of man Red Skull had been like.

You shivered, not from cold, but the memories of walking down the cold bunker in Germany, seeing other half blood children being experimented on all for the sake of creating their own breed of super soldiers. Sometimes, you wondered if it had been your blood that had been used to stabilize the serum in the Winter Soldier. You had been the only adult ‘godling’ they’d managed to capture. Mature cells fully developed.   
Eggs harvested-  
You shook again. You burned that lab to the ground. You destroyed everything in your escape. No remains of you. Nothing for them to use. Nothing to leave behind. Not even those poor children, too insane from the tortures-

Maybe that was why Thor turned you away. You had sins on your hands, just like your apparent mother. Maybe the King knew. You’d killed before. Mercy or not- you’d killed.

A crunch in the snow drew you from your reprieve, head shooting up in alarm as you scanned the white expanse for it’s source.  
“Little Fox.” The voice made you relax. Perhaps not everything would be too terrible.   
A giant, garbed in scant fur leggings and a band of iron around his right bicep approached from a nearby drift, looked at you with mild curiosity. His name was Dyrk. He’d met you many years ago, when you’d been much younger, exploring the nine realms by bumbling along the branches and falling from one to the next.   
“It has been a while since we have seen your skin.” He was not kind, rather, he was cautious. Back when Laufey ruled, the giant had grabbed you and taken you before the king. Said king had taken you in for a time under the guise of ‘aid’ and ‘altruism.’ Naïve, you’d embraced your status as the king’s ward. You’d learned some magic and many a survival skill- but as the years grew on, Laufey had grown impatient, demanding you teach his men the art of finding paths and walking along the branches. You’d never been able to properly explain it. Finding a path was easy for you- it was like a secondary sense. Making a path was… intrinsic. Your very being would call, the tree would answer. Like a mother reaching out to her young, she would give you a new way to walk, a new path to follow.

Laufey did not accept that answer. And when he realized you could not teach his men such a skill- a skill to infiltrate, to invade, he’d decided you would serve a different purpose. You were after all, a young, growing woman of great magical talent, a wealth of untapped potential just begging to be trained, to be utilize.   
Cultivated.  
Bred.

Not yet a woman, yet at it’s cusp, Laufey had informed you that as his ward, once you came of age, you’d join his court- and his harem. A concubine. Your Asgardian blood would make any child he sired viable, even if your weak Midgardian blood would make them a bit warmer and smaller than their full jotun kin.  
You remembered the madness in Laufey’s eyes then. A madness you always thought would never reach you, naïve child you were.  
You fled from Jotunheim, returning to Midgard. In total, just s cant 12 years had been spent on the frozen realm. Your slow aging making it more like a single year when you’d been the equivalent of 14. It had been the second time you’d met the ruler of a realm, and been forced to flee when learning of their madness, and their ideas to use you against your will.

Then, a few years ago, you’d felt it, a branch, thin and frail, growing and calling you. You’d walked it, finding Utgard in ruins. Laufey had been slain in an attempted infiltration of Asgard to slay Odin. The king had been killed by his own kin. The lost prince. The New, rightful King. Loki Laufeyson named Odinson. Loki, God of Mischief. 

As you’d stood on the branch, looking to the ruins of Utgard, you saw the remains of the attack from the Bifrost. You spent a day in shadows and under the cover of illusion to learn what had transpired. Just a day, and you’d walked back home to Midgard, feeling the tree growing out, as if reaching for that which it could not. When you walked those branches you only saw the void of space, the endless darkness and desolate nothingness. Yet the tree grew those paths none the less.

A year later the lost prince returned- but then on Midgard and well- The events that followed were well known in the nine realms.

As you looked to Dyrk, you simply nodded your head. Never a friend, only an observer. He knew you and you knew he. When Laufey passed and you’d resumed your exploring and wanderings, you’d met him again on Jotumheim, and had formed a tentative truce. He’d taken you once to the king, but the king was not on his throne. No, he was in Asgard, aiding his brother restoring those he called his people. Thus, Jotunheim was not a danger from it’s monarch to you. Just the cold.

“Hey.” You answered, summoning a thick cloak and heating yourself with a small spell.   
“Mind if I find a nice cave to crash in for a few days?” The giant blinked, red eyes wary.  
“I won’t report you to a hunting party, but I won’t help you.” Such was the nature of your tentative truce.

Frost giants hated Asgardians- but you posed little threat, and many still recalled the once King’s ward- childish and so eager to learn and embrace those who hated her and did not fear the chill of their skin.   
“Ymir watch over your hunt.” You bid him. A traditional parting remark of goodwill among them.  
“And may he guide your spear.” He turned but not before inclining his head to the left, the outline of a rocky formation in the distance. 

You had no spear, but no doubt once you found a cave, you could use a bit of magic to carve one from stone. You learned long ago how to survive on Jotunheim. You had lost the life you’d made on Midgard.  
For now, you’d find a way to survive on Jotunheim, until you need to walk the branches of Yggdrasil again.


	3. Young Prisoner of Muspelheim

His cock rubbed at your folds, seeping wetness slicking your thighs and cooling too quickly, contrasting so harshly to the heat emanating from your core. His body draped over your own, you were pinned under him, unable to buck him off to free yourself. Trapped, caged by him, his very flesh. Clothes formed a barrier between you, the lack of skin to skin contact driving you mad with rage. You hated the fact he was preparing you to take him, yet denying you his touch. Cruel it was, to give you his cock’s kiss, while denying the taste of his cold flesh.  
His hand on your neck held you down while the other kept your dominant hand immobile, taking most of your leverage away. Your cunt throbbed in need while he nudged your opening, intent clear. You were so small compared to him. So tiny against his giant frame and size. His kind were made to overpower your own, made to rule beings like you- smaller, weaker, softer, warmer. As the head of his cock found your hole, he pushed slowly at the opening, each time pulling back as your walls began to stretch, as you began to adapt, so when he sunk into your core, he’d find your womb ready for him.  
“You’re already surrendering to me.” His cockhead pushed past the first ring of muscle and skin- barely inside, not yet taking your maidenhood entire. “Soon my lovely vixen.”

His body emitted a low rumble, a growl of carnal delight as your pussy contracted, wetness coming forth again to ease his way.  
“Soon you’ll be mine completely.”

  
***  
One Year Prior  
***  


The crunch of bone was hard to ignore as it echoed in the cave. The hare like creature having marrow which was too nutrient rich to waste. The size of a medium dog, it was fast so much as it was skittish, using it’s white fur to hide from predators. Yet a well laid trap of roke spikes and flushing it out had proved advantageous. Skinned, it’s pelt would be added to your growing pile, which hopefully, you could trade with a hunting band in exchange for root vegetables or tinctures. It had been nine days since you’d arrived on Jotunheim, and news of your presence were whispers in the wind.   
Broken bones added to the crude rock bowl you’d carved, you stoked the fire and waited for it to heat. Some cave mushrooms, a handful of wild grasses from the lower valley, fresh meat, and the bone marrow would make a good meal in for tonight and the morning. 

Fat skimmed from the surface, you saved it in a small pile- fuel for the fire later, or aid in lures for larger, harder to catch prey. 

So far, you had kept your distance from the giants, only crossing their paths to make them aware you were present, yet would offer no hostility. King’s ward was what you once were- and technically, Laufey never rescinded that claim of protection over you. Unless Loki himself chose to act on it, you’d ride his sire’s old claim for the protection it offered you. Plus, while Loki was rumored to be repairing Utgard with the aid of the casket of ancient winters, you also doubted he’d bother himself with you. He hardly spared you a glance at the ceremony on Midgard anyway.   
You snorted as you stirred the pot, what use would he have for you? If he decided to also claim you as _his_ ward then the protection you had would only double. If he chose to capture you, he’d not be able to kill you as technically, you were both Asgardian and Midgardian- two races he was sworn to cause no harm lest he earn King Thor’s ire. And the avengers.   
The third possibility was the least likely- and that was that Loki would declare you as the past king’s ward now grown to be an adopted member of his court and from that, he would treat you as any jontar male would an unclaimed female. As ruling male, he’d have first rights. He could claim you as Laufey had intended, and make you his concubine. 

You shuddered to think what such a fate might be like. Loki was certainly much more attractive than his sire, but in terms of predictability and ruthlessness? It was hard to saw who might be the worse. At the very least, you comforted yourself, if Loki chose such a fate, Yggdrasil would be easy to call to and run to a new branch upon. As the summer grew near, Jotunheim grew more habitable, and the branches grew faster than normal when faced with the unending cold.

As the soup came to a boil you hummed to yourself, voice light as you carried the soft tune of the only lullaby you knew. It was the only Asgardian song you’d known- taught to you by another half blood from his father who’d died on Midgard after escaping Odin’s prisons long ago. As you hummed, you wondered if the other half blood children and adults were happy, if they were finding out about their families.  
You’d only known partial homes. From when you were a babe, raised in the sanctums by the sorcerer Supremes, masters of the mystic arts, all who called you godling girl. They had taught you magic, and raised you to be afraid of your very power and being…Then you ran away on the branches of Yggdrasil, laughing in glee and ignoring their warning as you traveled the cosmos with all the carefree curiosity a child might have. Naïve, you were a foolish child ignorant to the dangers of the nine realms.   
Muspelheim, the demon lord Sutur’s domain, where he’d laughed and kept you in a cage whist you cried, begging to be let go, to not be burned by his followers. Your escape had only been possible when he’d let you out of your cage for sport, sending fire dragons after you in a race to your demise. Yet the path had opened, and you ran from there on the branches, tears in your eyes as you ended on the cold shores of the north. 

The scars of molten rock on your skin never entirely faded. Rough callouses covered your feet and ironically, only served to make your walks on the world tree easier in time. 

Childhood had been a horrible few hundred years.

Sniffing the pot you surmised it was cooked enough, and grabbing it with some of the spare fur, you picked it off the fire to let it cool nearby. The smell was gamey, with the earthy richness that likely came from the cave mushrooms. It would fill you up nicely. 

The small shards of rock made for crude eating implements and the meal was eaten in relative silence. The wind outside howled it’s contempt, and you ignored it, focusing on thoughts of how to survive tomorrow, how to get more plant based food in your diet- too much meat was working against your more Midgardian digestive system. Sure, being half Asgardian made you able to eat alien hares and fish and other manners of beasts, but without a balanced diet, you’d still suffer.

You didn’t notice the red eyes at the cave’s mouth, and with the wind’s howl, you didn’t hear them until one made the mistake of summoning and ice cudgel too close to you, the heat in the air making the ice crack. You saw Dyrk among the group, eyes alight with cruel satisfaction before you felt the pain against your skull, and darkness kissing away your vision.

  
***  


Loki had no desire to rule Jotunheim at first. They rather resented him for the whole Bifrost incident, and while patricide was the means of inheriting the crown, he was a runt; raised an Odinson and called himself Odinson not Laufeyson. However, he was Loki Silvertounge, and absconding Asgard with the Casket of Ancient Winters had been a part of a much larger plan for himself. Always have a backup plan for your backup plan. This one being that by repairing Jotunheim and having control of the Casket, the giants would have no choice but to accept him as their ruler, and if he had a kingdom, Thor would always have to acquiesce part of his decisions to Loki’s will unless he wished to earn the ire of another realm.  
A subtle way to manipulate Asgard, and to keep it Thor from becoming another Odin. He was already jaded and growing distant with the events of The Snap and it’s subsequent reset. The incident with Amora’s daughter had also made it clear that despite Loki’s efforts, Thor was becoming slightly bitter over the past mistakes he’d made.

Loki might have sent for his former paramour, the Dr. Foster to see his brother under the guise of ‘rebuilding the Bifrost’ with Heimdall’s direction and permission to expunge Asgardian knowledge.  
Loki hoped his dear brother might wet his cock and lighten his heart in one act but- Loki wasn’t betting on it.  
So he rebuilt Utgard and Jotunheim as he did with the insight that he was growing popular with more and more of the giants.

A fact that made him all the more pleased when one told him they had discovered an intruder in the realm.  
“My King.” Loki grinned at the title. He’d never tired of hearing it, even if he wore his birth form rather than his more accustomed Aesir form. “We’ve brought the interloper.”

And with a single movement from the hunting band, Loki’s delight at being recognized as king left. There, knocked out and limp as a ragdoll, was the woman Thor had denied due to her parentage. Amora’s daughter.   
Loki felt himself going over the possible outcomes. As a prince of Asgard, he was obligated to inform Thor he knew her whereabouts. As the king of Jotunheim and Asgard’s ally, he couldn’t very well knowingly harbor or shelter the woman.  
“I see.” He managed, eyeing the band’s leader. “and you are?”  
“Dyrk my king. We have brought the little fox to you for judgement, as she is deserving of punishment only by your will.” There was a sickening sort of glee in the old giant’s eye. But the trickster caught the implication. You had a history here. On jotunheim of all places.  
“Take her to the inner dungeons cells. I’ll not have a prisoner freeze to death.” They nodded, happily yanking the woman’s limp form towards the stairs that would send them deep underground, where the cold could not harm her.  
“Tell me, Dyrk was it?” The gaint nodded. “What is this woman’s history here? I can tell she is not just any trespasser.” The black teeth of the tall blue man were pulled back in the facsimile of a grin. 

And so Loki learned your history, and also realized by finding you, he had perhaps set into motion a chain of events that he’d never have anticipated.  
He could only imagine Thor’s ire when he finally visited Jotunheim, just to see you at Loki’s side.  
King’s ward.  
King’s bride.

He smirked. Fate certainly had a funny way of working.


	4. Wanderer of Svartalfheim

The stretch of your cunt was bordering on painful as he sunk himself into you. Inch by inch, he slipped into you folds, rubbing your tight silken walls with his turgid length. The girth of him made it burn but also made you keen in pleasure. Full- he filled you in a way nothing ever had before. No craving had ever left you feeling so complete, so utterly right in the act of finding satisfaction. Your voice turned into a litany of sounds, gasps and moans as he worked your body slowly to accept him, embrace him, welcome him and his need.  
Your virginity lost not in blood and pain, but in a burning pleasure of becoming complete. A thousand years of never taking a lover, only to fall prey to a monster and be forced into carnal submission. A fight between two survivors, intent on defying the fate chosen for them only to end up in primal embrace, just as nature would intend. His low moan of pleasure rumbled, the vibrations felt along your spine. Each twitch of his cock sent a sensation inside of you, prompting your walls to milk him for his seed. When he finally hilted himself his voice was thick with delight.  
“How lovely you look little fox. Stretched over me like this. Your quim spread open wide to take all of me to my root.” The hand that held your arm immobile grabbed your hand, guiding it to your opening, making you feel the way he’d filled you so perfectly, how your pussy was snug and filled with him.  
“Feel where we’re joined my vixen. Feel the way you fit me-“ You gasped, arching into him as his hips drew back, the drag of his cock making pleasured sparks dance behind your eyelids.  
“Feel how you were made for me.”

  
***  
One Year Prior  
***  


Waking in the dark was not new to you. No, waking behind bars was also not a new event. Waking alone also failed to make alarm raise in your blood. Nothing made you entirely afraid about the situation until you reached out to feel for Yggdrasil only to feel the branches far away, too far to call close to make your escape.  
Too far to have grow so you might run away.  
“It’s fascinating watching you try to work your magic.” His voice sonorously filled the empty caverns that were the dungeons of Utgard, and your fear skyrocketed. “I’ve never met a sorceress who could command the world tree to do her bidding, much less walk it’s branches as I do.” Your heart thundered in your chest. Was he the cause of the branches distance? The reason for their hesitance to grow near?  
“Tell me little fox.” He came into the light, red eyes dancing with mirth and curiosity. His face was that same angular one you’d seen on Midgard at the ceremony, hair slicked back and slightly curled, bouncing with his step. Yet his skin was the rich cobalt you knew only those of the royal line possessed, his clan marking and the whorls that formed his crown atop his brow. You were curious why he held no horns however. Laufey had lacked them, as he lacked sedir, but Loki was both a powerful sorcerer and the king- he should have horns like the giant kings of old.  
“How do you manage to manipulate we very cosmos to your will when you can’t even break yourself free from this cell?” No different from Laufey you surmised. Loki was not interested in anything but your power, and perhaps, if you used it to your advantage, you could slip away and evade being brought back to Midgard to face King Thor… or the authorities.

“I don’t know.” It was an honest answer, the same one you’d given his sire. “It is… like another part of me. Like breathing or blinking. I do it without knowing I do- and when I must, I call it without realizing I must do so.” Sometimes the tree wanted to grow, to make a new path even if you’d not walk it.  
“Tell me then little fox, how many paths have you forged from one realm to the next, leaving them open for any fool to find? How many have you made that could lead an innocent astray?” The question was an important one, one you would have expected to be laced with ire, yet in Loki’s eye you saw only delight.  
“…” You hesitated on telling the truth. But, he was a god of lies. It would be known easily enough. “They can’t. Not unless the branch is big enough, stable enough. Yggdrasil’s branches are often frail and small. Breaking and shifting, moving as it grows. Just because a path exists in one moment never means it will remain.”  
“Yet there are paths that have existed thousands of years.”  
“It’s easy to mistake roots for branches and branches at roots.” You reply quickly, shocking you both. “Your majesty.” You tack on the title, hoping it might serve to mollify Loki. 

It does.  
“Majesty. Yes, I am King here aren’t I? And you, I am told, were Laufey’s ward once upon a time.” Your eyes widen as you gape to him. Who had told him? Why-  
“Dyrk.” You realize.  
“Yes, that old giant was very eager to sell you out. Apparently, he’s wanted to see you dead for some time now, but been too honorable to do so and go against the old laws of protection. Even if they’re a savage race, they are very tradition bound.” Loki’s contempt is palatable. He is no more fond of the giants than they are of him most likely.  
“However, I’m told that it is my decision if I wish to uphold such a protection. I must say, I’d really see a reason to. You’re Thor’s problem not mine.”  
You shiver in the cell but not from cold.  
“I- I don’t wish to return. I’ve done nothing wrong! I- I didn’t know she was my mother. I’ve never even met her.”  
“Amora. Yes, I did take a look at your past the day after the ceremony. Raised in the sanctum, you ran away as a child only to reappear as a youth to a cult of pagans in the north. Then, you traveled to the west isles, learning the ways of nature under priestesses to the green king. You have quite the history little fox, yet nothing so important to me than your brief stay here in my realm.” The way he looked at you spoke volumes. Loki knew your past, and he knew that your fate rested entirely in his hands.  
“You’re hardly a threat to Thor, the paltry knowledge of sedir you have and no formal training. You also age as slow as your full blooded kin, making you the eldest of your fellow half blood kind. No great unspeakable evils done with your gifts, nothing more than the innocent roamings of a child seeking knowledge correct?”  
You inch away from him just slightly, an act that makes his lips curve up in delight.  
“Correct.” You hesitate. “My lord.” His tongue peeked out from behind his lips, wetting them as he leered at you, taking stock.  
“Yet your presence here poses a bit of a problem to me. As a prince of Asgard, my duty is to bring you to the crown to face justice. As the King of Jotunheim, I cannot harbor you for the sake of my alliance to Asgard, as Laufey’s ward-“ Red eyes, all too knowing gazed at you with wickedness you recalled in his sire.  
“You belong to me.”

The words made you wince and look away from his penetrative stare, trying to distance yourself from whatever evils the god of mischief planned.  
“So I’m left with a limited number of options. I can’t very well claim you as my ward, seeing as you’re a grown woman, yet I can’t just remove my protection from you. My men would be…” You made the mistake to look at him, his red gaze bordering on malicious and if you were not mistaken, lusting. “My men would certainly take their pleasures from you, willing or not.”  
“Please, just- let me go at the surface. I’ll run- take another path and not return-“  
“And where would you run to little fox?” Loki’s voice cuts you off. “Vanaheim? Where we have allies who also would be obligated to deliver you to Thor? Alfheim? Nidavellir? Nif-“  
“I guess.. I could try Svartalfheim.” You mutter and to your surprise Loki hears you and looks a bit shocked.  
“Svartalfheim? You think you could survive-“  
“Maybe? It’s barren mostly and not entirely pleasant, but no one would try to kill me or imprison me just for existing there at least.” You can’t look at him, can’t face the knowledge that you’ll be sent back to Midgard. Sent back just to be locked up and experimented on. Again.  
“You say that like you’ve been there.”  
“I have.” You pause. “I saw the aftermath of the convergence. Malekith’s men. His ship.” You look up at Loki, who’s face seems stuck in awe. “Didn’t see his corpse though. Either way, the world is habitable if you know where to look, where to go.”  
“And you know these things how?”

You shrug.  
“The same way I know how to call to Yggdrasil. I just do.”

Loki looks at you this time with a far more critical eye than you’re comfortable with.  
“So we are back at the issue at hand. I cannot let you go little fox, but-“ He waves a hand, the bars to your cell melting away in gold mist, “-I also would rather not send you to your death or your unwarranted imprisonment. So here is my proposal.” You lean away from him.  
“Become my concubine-“  
“No.” You hiss, reaching out to the tree, finding it slow in it’s growth.  
Loki’s sneer is full of contempt. “You either become my concubine, or I let my men take their fill of you. Trust me girl, I may not be fond of the notion of forcing a woman to warm my bed, but I’d rather stomach that than watch her be raped and slaughtered by a dozen frost giants. Or would you prefer I take you back to Midgard, where your precious united nations would lock you away and likely make you nothing more than their living experiment. Oh, you have no idea how many nations want to send their people to Thor, to examine Asgardians, to harvest DNA and unlock the mysteries of their genetics. Yes.” He hissed, seeing the fear in you. “We both know very well the fate which waits you on Midgard, innocent or guilty of nonexistent crimes. Thor is blinded by his bitterness and resentment of Amora but I am not. You-“ He pulls back, gathering himself, casting out the cruel gaze and replacing it with a knowing one.  
“I won’t force you to consummate the position with me. You will for all appearances, be my paramour and concubine, a candidate for who will carry my heir. It will offer you protection so long as you remain on Jotunheim.”  
You look at his feet, warmth and shame in your face. “I won’t have to… sleep with you, just pretend?”  
“I’m not really that repulsive am I?” A glimmer and you notice his skin is pale again- his Asgardian self glamoured over his natural form.  
You blush to his smile, and shake your head, not wanting to admit the truth- he was just as fetching as a jotun.  
“Little fox.” Loki sighed. “I know what it is like to be… exiled, to be considered an outsider when you have only sought acceptance. You are- That is- your situation is far too reminiscent for me. A crime of cruelty I want no part in. Odin and Laufey’s legacies will not be my own, so thus, I wish to shelter you until a time that Thor will see the error of his judgement and welcome you into Asgard as you rightfully belong.”

This-  
“This is a trick. A lie to get something from me.” Loki’s lips tick up in a smirk.  
“Darling, even if it is, what other option do you have?”

You stand, eyeballing the prince and king.  
“Do we have an accord little fox?” His hand is held out, and gingerly you grab it.  
“Wonderful.”

His kiss is cold, yet it makes something heat low in your body as you feel the branches of Yggdrasil grow around you once again.


	5. Guest of Nidavellir

The wet slap of skin on skin did not echo in a vast emptiness of Jotunhiem. No, it only was heard by you and your lover, who pumped his hips roughly behind you, determined to fill you not just with his cock but his very essence, his seed. He was determined to breed you, tying you to him by the bond of a child, an heir. And even as you rebelled, you craved it to happen. For his seed to flood your empty womb, to find your fertile eggs, having them taking root, making your belly swell with his offspring, your breasts heavy with milk for his young and your body glowing in motherly radiance; all for him, because of him. You screamed into the cold winter storm as he roamed his triumph, the veins and groves of his cock rubbing your walls with all the sensations of pleasure and pain. 

He was so large, so inhumanly large now- yet he still fit inside you. He still could fill you, a perfect glove for him, just at the point of being too tight, too small, yet oh so perfect in how your very body straddled that blissful line of almost. Blue hands held your hips, no longer pinning you down into the snow. He no longer had to, you were connected now, seated on his male organ, deriding pleasure from this carnal violation. You gasped and clawed at the earth and snow as you fought the building pleasure, the mounting release that would urge him to give you his spend.  
“My sweet-“ He crooned. His body bent over you, horns locking your head from moving, making you feel his icy breath on your neck.  
“My love-“ He kissed you there, the dull throbbing bruise where his hand had been.  
“My queen.” You screamed as he bottomed out again, the idea of carrying his heir making your cunt pulse with a need you’d never known before.  
A need for him.

  
***  
10 Months Prior  
***

Loki had not gone back on his word. Two months now in Jotunheim, specifically Utgard, and you’d not been forced to do anything… unwanted. Most of your days were spent using your sedir to aid in mending some of the ice rifts and various fissures that exposed the labyrinthic tunnels under the ice, where most Frost giants dwelled in the warmer months and also grew most of their plants, what with nearly every surface either covered in permafrost or constant snow. What little green there was came from the few plants that could survive in the harsh climate.  
And Loki.

His kiss back when you’d agreed to become his ‘concubine’ had been a seal. Sure, you’d not known it at that moment, slapping him and calling him a scoundrel whist he laughed at your outrage, but a seal was a seal all the same. His magic warded against the cold, and, granted you shielding from Heimdall as well as acted as means to ward off any potential ‘suitors’.  
Frost Giants were not known for their fidelity, and it was not uncommon for males to try and steal a rival’s bride on occasion. Normally, a male would coat his lover with his scent, be that blood, sweat, or most popular, depositing his seed inside her. This acted as a very primal and subconscious way to deter other males. However, as you neither shared Loki’s bed or wanted to bed him, and as the King was not always near he’d developed a more magical solution. 

A necklace of gold filigree that was as thin as silk strands, yet nigh indestructible. A gift from the dwarf king of Nidavellir, whom you and Loki had both traveled to, a week into your ‘relationship’.  
“By the stars, you’ve finally gone and done it.” The king of the Dwarves, Eitri, was not some waist high person. No, he was three times your size, larger than a giant, and you’d nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw him again.  
“You’ve finally gone and gotten yourself tied up in Asgardian drama haven’t you little hart?” The king’s voice was kind, and you vaguely recalled how he and his people had once upon a childhood exploration, allowed you to meander the forges and outer rings- curious yet hiding and running from them. They’d left food out for you, called you the little hart, because you’d found an imperfect crown in one of their many crates of failed crafts and how you’d worn it with the innocence a child might have, like antlers, and darted from them with the swiftness of a buck or doe. Yet- back then you were more a fawn. 

Blushing, you’d hid behind Loki, uncertain how to speak to a king who had only tangently hosted you when you’d been an easily frightened child, still recovering from her venture to the realm of demons and fire lords. And, once, Nidavellir had been alive and now.. only it’s once proud king remained.  
“Ah, so you’ve been to Nidavellir as well pet? What realm haven’t you seen I wonder?” Loki smirked at your nervousness, wrapping his arm around you and pushing you forward to the king of dwarves, (no, you amended, the king of nothing now, the last of his kind), who smiled.

He was nice, asking why Loki, (who you found, he didn’t dislike so much as was leery of and wary to make bargains with), had come.  
To which Loki had motioned to you, and introduced you as his concubine and intended consort.  
“Your wife and princess-“  
“No” Loki said, voice firm. You were not for his Asgardian self. The person he was and would be. You were his second hand chosen. A woman who held a role just as he took a role so he might better claim the one he wanted. “A concubine who might one day become my consort. I have taken my birthright- my true birthright.” Blue skin emerged, and the king of Dwarves stilled. Then without hesitation had said, calmly as Loki grinned.  
“I see, well, we best get the lady a proper symbol of her status then.”

So thus was the necklace forged and Loki’s magic given a host. In the time it had been made, Loki had you remain as a gust of Eitri, telling you to acquaint yourself with the place you’d once known and one day, might have to return to as an ambassador.  
Halls and forges once brimming with workers and laughter, light and fire- now were cold and empty.  
Yet the king of a people gone worked them still, and so while you walked the halls, mended the broken branches, healing the bark and stopping the flows of sap from Yggdrasil in the wake of the Titan’s attack, he worked his forge.

And now a necklace sat on your neck. A collar to mark you as Loki’s chosen, a band to grant you protection as well as damnation.

That had been weeks ago, and now, as you helped heal Utgard and Jotunheim from old scars, You stayed far from Loki when he visited for the fact you disliked being remained of the bargain. Only sharing his chambers when he called fro you to maintain appearances, he lorded himself over you. What was a bit more than annoying however, was the fact when he did visit, he always made a point to arrive covered in marks of other lovers.  
Asgardian lovers.  
Bite marks, make-up smeared on his collars, scented perfumes you knew were not his, bruises from kisses on his neck- He showed them off with pride when he arrived, as if mocking you, reminding you that you were at his mercy, that even if he wanted to force you, he had better options, better lovers he could take.

And besides, you were bound to Jotunheim and it’s king. Prince Loki of Asgard was no man who owed you anything. 

You would share King Loki's chambers when he’d come smelling of other lovers, yet you slept on the chaise, exiled from even the proximity of contact.  
Which you suspected was why Loki’s displays irritated you so. Loki was free to touch others, be held- while you were untouchable. The king’s concubine, any one, male or female who so much as looked at you with anything but disinterest was to be killed. Loki, was nothing, if not absolutely possessive of you. Not for use no- but to display you. To use you to show his grasp over a woman who’s race from her mother was one his people loathed, and who’s blood of her father was from a people they once had nearly conquered. You were Loki’s pretty little trophy, his pretty little pet.

And the gold collar you wore every day symbolized that perfectly.

Two months, and the king of Jotunheim had not once touched you while he could touch anyone he wished. It was a bitter thing.  
Sighing you wove a branch to another, forging a strong connection between Jotunheim and Niflheim. The realm was technically once upon a time past, Hela’s domain, but, with her demise, it had passed to the rule of the All-father. But- before Hela’s rule, it had been a thrall realm to Jotunheim. So-  
Thor had ‘given’ it to Loki’s charge.

It was a bit more complicated than that but, apparently, as far as the frost giants were concerned, it was once more ‘their’ realm, and, Loki was king of it too.  
Which still worked out, him being Thor’s heir and an Odinson after all.

Making branches between Niflheim and Jotunheim was easier for it, and as you wove the branches, you failed to notice the king behind you.  
Not until he chose to ghost your neck with his cold breath and alarming words.  
“What a lovely gift you make for me by pet.” Loki’s hand reached out as you spun, catching your wrist mid spell, feeling the magic that could call to the tree itself.  
“Giving me new paths to use, ways which I might expand and rule. But, do try and keep them were only we with sedir can see them hm?” A common enough thing when he found you- reminders to keep the paths hidden. To only mend ways to strengthen the realm, not the hidden walk ways, not risk revealing the secrets of the tree.

“I-“ Loki didn’t let your hand go, and after nearly two months of touch starvation you nearly melted into his form behind you, “I only wish to prove my worth.”  
He laughed in your ear, “You do every day pet. Speaking of which-“ A soft feeling the thick fur you wore gone and replaced by silks, yet not a touch of cold reached your skin.  
“I had the seamstresses make you some dresses. Asgardian fashion of course. As much as I love seeing you in fur and leather, you are much more lovely in the dress of our people.”

Elegant, pale green-mint you realized. You gasped at the gold detailing, the images of mistletoe on the sleeves and the beads on the silk slippers on your feet.  
“Won’t I get cold-“ A silly question, given it was his magic that kept you warm.  
“I would not permit it. Keep working pet. We’ll chat later.”

He left you again, his necklace marking you his property.  
His color, muted, marking you his lady.


	6. Abomination of Alfheim

You moaned under his hands, arching your back as he took his time with you. At first you’d resisted, fighting the pleasure and domination of your lover. But now, after crying out in bliss, your first orgasm found upon his cock, he took his time to please you and himself. Hands ran up and down your sides as he languidly thrust, hips angled to stroke over your core, drawing helpless mewls and moans from the stimulation. As he thrust he kissed the back of your neck, soothing the ache of shame and humiliation of having been taken so primally, like you were a common beast. Yet you wanted more- his lips on your own, to taste him and bite him and see his eyes. 

He would not have it, instead keeping you on your hands and knees, at his mercy while he ignited a growing flame of passion inside you. You moans enticed his lusts, and when you whimpered he rewarded your plaintive sounds with a deeper thrust, the thick head of his cock rubbing so close to your cervix. It was the promise of his seed filling you, of him taking you and making you swell with his children, of making you the mother to his heirs. As your moans became deeper, he increased his thrusts, urging you ever closer to the precipice. He sought your pleasure, not for your bliss but for control. Each time you cried out under him was but another affirmation of his hold over you, his dominion.   
“I will cum inside you.” He told you, arching your body so he might sink so far that his balls brushed your body.  
“I will sire an heir and take you as my wife this night.” Not a mistress, not a consort, but his wife- never to leave him, never to be free of his chains upon you. The chains that would bind him as well.  
“A queen.” He moved, swirling his hips and making his cock ignite a new sensation inside your wet cunt, making you cry out for more of the same. “Queen of my kingdom.” He whispered.   
“Mother of my children.” He bottomed out, the hot rush of his seed flooding you, making you keen at the sudden feeling.  
“My lovely little wife.”

***  
8 Months Earlier  
***

Loki, for whatever reason in the past two months since he’d brought you Asgardian gowns, had become increasingly open with you. Before, he’d kept his distance, rarely spending time with you or even having meals with you. Now, he at least spent a good few hours a week in your company, in public, and would have dinner with you most nights that he was on Jotunhiem. He still would come back with marks of other lovers, but less frequently, and when he did, he seemed to make some small attempts at hiding them. Whatever was happening in New Asgard was leaving him irate more often than not though, and it was no longer uncommon for him to arrive and demand your presence. When it had first happened, he’d demanded you use your magic to sooth him, something you didn’t understand. 

He reached out and grabbed you hand, his magic lancing up your arm until instinctively, you pushed back. He’d laughed, manic and demanded you force your magic upon him, make him yield or he would use you as the outlet for his rage. You’d yelped, striking him with your hand and darting away, pushing back to his own seidr with your own. He’d laughed, batting it away like a smoke, and had laughed cruelly as he’d caught you, tossing you onto his bed and making you fear a violent violation.  
Yet it hadn’t come. Instead, he’d buried his face into your neck, telling you to quell the rage in his magic, weave it into something softer, calmer. It was... strange. He held you, collapsed upon his bed as he demanded you do something you’d never done before yet somehow you still managed. You reached to his seidr and like he’d bade you, you wove your magic through like you did with the branches of Yggdrasil. In moments, the tension flowed from his body, his tense form relaxing as he sighed pleasurably into your skin.  
“Yes- like that. No one else could even attempt to do what you can.”

He told you to not speak of it. You didn’t. And he never again spoke of that strange intimacy of his holding you, breathing into your neck as he relaxed and allowed your magic to minge with his own. Now he simply would demand you sooth him, and the process would be without touch.  
But intimate it remained, flickers of his emotions brushing your mind as the magic mixed, and worryingly, you occasionally caught the faintest flashed of desire among them. If they were for a woman he’d left back in Asgard or you it was not clear. Because in the last 2 months, Loki had taken to touching you as well.

Hands held, arms laced- he enjoyed pulling you into his embrace in public, showing you off to various giants and making a show of your shy blushes and skittishness. It was uncomfortable, not because of the proximity or the touches or his false flirtations.   
It was uncomfortable because a tiny part of you wished it was real.

Since your arrival, Loki’s promise had been true- no one dared get close to you, and save for the occasional servants and guards you were alone. Your friends on Midgard were lost to you, and what friends you had on other realms hardly could be considered friends. It was lonely, and the only one who was close and gave you the touch, the proximity, the attention you craved was Loki.  
But it was a lie.

Four months into living in Jotunheim, and you missed the sunlight, green trees and soft grass. You missed laughter of friends and the sound of music. Here you were nothing more than an ornament. A tool Loki could use. He’d spared you the sword, but given you a gilded cage. It was hard sometimes to assuage what was a worse fate. To be alone, or to be a object at the whims of men. 

“Pet.” His voice broke the trance and you looked to Loki, uncertain as to why he wished for your attention. Today, he hosted delegates of Alfheim, and they eyed you like so many others did. Contempt, scorn, disgust. It was hard enough to stomach the same haunting expressions from the Asgardians that day, but you lived with it from the frost giants already.  
Light elves loathed half breeds, and what were you but a half-breed bastard of a criminal whore?   
“Have you been to Alfheim?” It was an innocent enough question and you worried why he’d ask such.  
“yes.” The grin on his face was full of wicked promise.   
“And how did you find it?” You looked to him, then to the elves who openly sneered at you in disgust. Rage boiled in you, at them, at Loki for toying with you, at your mother, at everything.  
“Revolting.” The remark had Loki’s eyes widen before he let out a cackling laughter, pulling you from your seat and into his lap with a yelp. The delegates looked on, fury in their eyes and barely holding back their own scathing words.  
“I must agree with my darling. You come and demand crystals and resources yet would see my realms as lesser? Bigotry, arrogance, it mares what could be lovely. Don’t you agree love?” His face is in your neck and his words hover into you mind with his magic.  
 _Agree with me _  
“Yes…when I was younger, they treated me like I was an abomination, a freak. Any so called beauty they have is nothing more than a false veneer.”__

__“You **are** an abomination you witch spawn!” The sudden outburst made you finch, the cruel mocking works all to similar to the ones you’d have yelled at you in your youth from the one time you’d made the mistake to see what a realm of magic and myth might be like. You hated how quickly you felt the shame and self loathing come on, you hated how deep those words cut, even hundreds of year later.  
“Witch spawn?” Loki’s voice cut the air, sharp and threatening. “You’d slander my concubine? Slander my property?” You felt a flicker of hope blossom thinking he might defend you.  
“She might be an abomination, but she is _my_ abomination.” Hope died quickly. Even to Loki, you were an abomination, a freak. His property, nothing more.  
Loki stood, setting you lose as he snarled at the elves, and you slipped away, hot tears threatening to break free._ _

__You went to your room, and looked at it for the first time since you arrived. A simple bed with rough fabric sheets, a dresser that held basic clothes for work, a wardrobe that held the beautiful Asgardian gowns Loki demanded you were when he was around yet never to be worn while you worked or went out otherwise. No vanity, no mirror to even look at yourself. No books, no photos- nothing in your room was your own._ _

__Everything had been granted to you by Loki.  
Nothing for your comforts, for you desires or wants. The jewelry in the dresser were ones he selected, matched to gowns he found pleasing. Shoes, ornaments for your hair- everything was for his liking. Everything was not for you it was for his enjoyment. You were property to Loki, a tool he might use then put away when it suited him._ _

__It hurt, not because you thought he might care, not because you wanted his affections, it hurt because this was your only choice. No other realm would take you, no people would welcome you. Even if you’d fled, the barren worlds would not sustain you- you’d die in time upon them, alone and outcast.  
You were his because out of every place you might live, this was the only one that granted you sanctuary._ _

__You wept, knowing that this was to be your fate. Never a friend, never a companion, to have no lover, no aly, no hope of a brighter fate. You were property, a tool, nothing more.  
Your sorrow came in the form of soft weeping, unaware that on the other side of the door, Loki could feel your heart shattering, the threads of magic you’d woven into his own unraveling. _ _

__Loki snarled at himself, stalking away to return to Asgard, to resume work upon the treaties and delegations for trade and commerce between his realms and the new realm eternal. You were his property. He couldn’t allow himself to let you become more._ _


	7. Unwanted of Niflheim

The moan that left you as the cool rush of his cum was loud and wanting. His cock forced in and out, the wet slick of his cock pushing his seed in, and drawing it out with a obscene squelch. You could feel the cooling wet running down your thighs and into the snow as he refused to lessen his pace, refused to grant you a moment’s rest, even after having found his own release. Yet you liked it, loved it even. The determination of him to remain deep inside, the need to fill you again and again with his seed. You adored how he trapped you, marked you inside and out. Hot needy kisses pressed to your neck, your shoulders, every inch of skin his mouth could find. He was cruel in his claim, possessive in his want and need, yet it was this that made you clench on him, milking his length for more of the very thing that would chain you to him.

Mother of his children, lover, bride- queen. His, utterly his for no one but him and chosen by him. Chosen by you. Hate and love a coin with the same face on each side. You moaned and urged him to continue, pushing against his body, reaching to touch him only to hear his snarl and feel him pin the arm with his magic.  
“No one will take you from me.” He snarled, lifting you, angling himself deeper, aiming his seed at your core. He would have a child sired this night. And you knew, if not this night, he would repeat it, over and over until your belly was round and ripe with an heir.   
“I will not let them. No one will hurt you, none will make you cry.” You whimpered, reminders of cruelty in your mind before he moaned, sinking down, cock kissing the deepest part of you, as if his cock were lips and they had found your soul.  
“Only I can hurt you.” He smiled against you skin and he thrust, your soft plaintive cry signally your pleasure, your release.   
“And you love it when I do.”

***  
Five Months Earlier  
***

“Pet.” Loki’s tone was playful, which as you’d come to know, signaled mischief. It have been 3 months since the incident with the light elves, and you’d never quite gotten over the cold reality of what you were to Loki. Property. Not a person, a thing. A puppet on strings to dance to his tune. A jewel in his crown to taunt Thor over in how you were his by right, and no one else could tell him otherwise.   
An abomination who’s purpose was to sit pretty on display, and do her master, her owner’s bidding.

Looking to said owner, you quickly cast your eyes down, not daring to look at him as he grinned, dressed in his full armor. You were barely woke, the sofa he made you sleep on when you were to share his chambers for appearance sake proving more and more uncomfortable as time moved on. Not that he cared. So long as you could aid in the growth of Yggdrasil’s branches, Loki could have cared less most likely.  
“Yes?” You voice was small, and you tried not to use it as of late. For whatever reason your voice made him scowl, as if the tone was unplesant. You asked him about it, and he’d said you sounded pathetic and weak. Yet it was hard to change it. Sadness laced ever letter, and sound was dull and muted to your ears. 

There was no music on Jotunheim. None for a bastard mongrel. What music was played was for the jotuns, for their dances and celebrations, for their laughter and smiles.  
Once, you tried to join them, to enjoy the songs and dances- but they scorned you mocking how you looked- pale skin and pale green gown. Not fitting in, never belonging. 

“Get dressed, we have important work today.” You blinked up at him owlishly. We? Loki had never worked with you before. Watching yes, ordering yes, but not alongside you. Perhaps the time had come- he would learn your magic, so he would eventually no longer need you. Your expiration date had been set then. It had only been a matter of time after all. No one would want to keep a creature that was hated by her own kind after all.

Nodding, you stood, thin nightgown hiding nothing from Loki’s intense gaze.   
Perhaps the only shift in him- after the light elf incident, he’d become increasingly teasing, and worse, lecherous. Not touching, but demanding. The sheer nigh gown showed him all, from the swell of your breast to the soft curls covering your sex, Loki was given full view of your body. You wilted under his gaze; it cut you deep and made your sorrows flow faster than fresh blood on the ice. He looked like he lusted but he never did anything but look. And you knew he sought his pleasures from others. Neck decorated in marks, nail marks on his back, the sickly sweet scent of feminine perfume on his skin. His Asgardian lovers, the women and men he spoke of to you once just to mock you. To be cruel. ‘Pity I can’t bring my lovers here with me, at least then I wouldn’t have to have you sleeping in my chambers.’

It hurt, to be reminded you were so unwanted, even for something as base as sex.

Slipping the night gown off, you had long ago given up hiding yourself from him, letting him see you entirely. It was his right after all, you were his concubine, even if in name only. Yet as you dressed you did not see the heat in his eyes, the lust that pooled and gathered in his loins. You never noticed how he licked his lips, eyes drifting down to the apex of your thighs, seeing the sweet slit of your sex as you bent over to retrieve the slippers off the floor. You remained unaware, which was exactly how Loki preferred it.

The gown for the day was conjured on the nearby vanity chair and you went and began to put it on, noting how it was a soft peach in color, only light accents of gold decorating the billowing sleeves. Mint shoes, lilac perfume- a vision of a woman from spring to contrast the bitter cold eternal winter of Jotunheim. A contradiction no doubt Loki relished.

“I do so hope you will like our little outing.” He said as he led you down the halls of Utgard later that morning.   
“You have seen Jotunheim, and-“ He chuckled, looking at you, trying to catch your eyes, “-if I were to guess that you had been to Niflheim you’d say yes?” You blushed. Loki knew you’d visited all nine realms most likely, but he never asked. Not really. It was odd that off all things to do with your gift, he never asked for what you would not tell him yourself.   
“Yes.” Your hand rested on his arm, the perfect image of docile, submissive, concubine ready to do her master’s bidding, for his pleasure.   
“Care to explain?” He was leading you to one of the towers- recently rebuilt, and for what purpose, you did not know.  
“It was a mistake. I wished to die but-“ He slowed his walk, as did you, “-I was not allowed. I was too much a coward to kill myself, so I chose to go to the land of the dead, to simply... cease living.”  
“And who turned you away?” He’d stopped walking, green eyes boring into you as your gaze remained fixed on the ground.  
“You know who.” You answered softly. Hela was unkind in her way, but, she’d wanted nothing to do with a teenager who felt alone in her powers.  
Loki, to his credit, pat your hand in as much comfort as he could provide before resuming your walk.  
“Well.” His free hand lifted, and you could feel him seeking the branches, calling them, abet, poorly. You reached out, your hand coving his and helping guide his magic to the tree, letting him feel it’s song and dance, letting him feel how it grew and gathered. You let him command it, push and prod until you felt the other side of the branch snare.

Two steps, he grinned as the cold became biting, the spell he’d cast to protect from Jotunheim having no effect here.  
“Take a look my pet.” He sounded almost manic as he gripped your hand, letting you see the realm you had once tried to enter. Desolate, frozen corpses covered the barren land where not even snow fell. No life, this was a place of nothing.  
“I have wondered how to handle it you see, so I thought to myself, I have a rather charming pet with a fair bit of sedir, why not use her?” Loki calmed a bit, the frozen chill vanishing with another spell.   
“Only souls and shades and monsters exist here, yet they are my people now. I suppose. But they need someone to hear their woes, their grievances, their needs and wants. Lacking a… suitable partner for this task I must rely on others.”  
You understood then what he wanted. He didn’t need you, your time was up. So soon, so fast. You should have felt something but all that was in you was nothing, you were numb to it. Numb to your fate.

Loki’s fingers rubbing your hand, as if trying to urge warmth back in them.  
“My magic will keep death from claiming you and keeping you here but- Let’s just say to avoid trying to disable any sort of charms any time soon shall we?”   
A castle of stone, cold and jagged, cut from a mountain, it housed being of nightmare, making you cling to Loki in fear. Yet you listened to him telling you of your task. A branch made in the stone castle to the gate in Jotunheim as there once had been. A bedchamber where you would warm his bed when he would be called here. A throne room, where you would sit not in the throne but at it’s feet, acting as the king’s voice while he was away.   
Or so you thought.

“We won’t stay here often pet, but when we do, remain close to me. I am the king, but you are a prize to be won, a gem. The creatures of this realm would steal you away from me if given the chance.” He walked you to the throne before guiding you down.   
Down to sit where he belonged as King. Yet his eyes held that mirth, the mischief he was so known for.  
“It suits you better than I thought it would.” He mused, reaching out to run his fingers through your hair. The sudden intimacy had your pulse racing. Why would he do such? Why get so close? You couldn’t grasp what Loki’s plans were.

“You will be radiant.”  
His lips were warm and soft. His laughter bright and loud as he pulled away, carrying you back to Jotunheim, back to his chambers.  
Now with a small wardrobe next to his own, pastel gowns and dresses hanging, waiting for another day.


	8. Half-breed of Asgard

Your plaintive mewls and moans did nothing to dissuade him. If anything your sounds only encouraged him to keep fucking you into the snow, plowing you in long deep strokes. He’d cum inside you twice now, and yet he still hadn’t finished. He was insatiable, and his gentle nips at your shoulders and ears were teasing promises of what roughness he might lash upon your willing flesh. After all, there could be no denial now. Your hips bucked back to have him sink to the hilt, you moaned his name into the icy wind, and you begging for more when he stilled. You were willing, complacent in his claiming, wilting to his will and capitulating to his lusts.

A pleasured sigh left you as he shifted your body, having lay on your side while he continued to buck his hips to your own. The angle shift had him stroking deeper parts of you, rubbing your abused and delicate walls in a new way. He’d mated you, claimed you, seeded you, now, he would pleasure you and make you come to adore his touch. But he didn’t have to. You had wanted it for so long, desired him for so long. Perhaps perverse in nature, you wanted to be claimed, owned, have someone that would want you- desperation said you would have settled for anyone, but he was not anyone. He was the king to be, a relic of another time now past.   
A sharp thrust hit home, making you cry out at the rough treatment, earning a chuckle from your cobalt lover. “So sensitive- you will be a delight in the coming months.”   
His finger went down circling your tender clit, sending you into a full body shake. It was torture- he would push this pleasure on you, making you endure it as he made you take it without question. Yet- you adored it. The domination, the control. He gave you a purpose beyond mere lip service. Beyond a title.  
“Look at me, my heart.” He whispered, red eyes burning into you. You came again, lips parted and eyes fixed to his. He gasped in awe, his own release following you.  
“My divine goddess.”

***  
Three Months Earlier  
***

Being the ‘regent’ of Niflheim was more difficult than Loki had anticipated. There were countless souls unworthy of Valhalla, cowards who’s bent to Hela’s brief rule of Asgard and had died in it’s flames. There were others- cowards who’d given up, killed themselves to escape her wrath. Loki had looked ill that first time he’d stood at the dark court, hearing the pleas of fallen Asgardians to have mercy, to be granted clemency for their failed accomplishments. They called him kind prince, godly king, handsome lord- but each attempt to earn his favor with honey words only earned his rage. A deep scowl across his features when those he once called his people attempted to gain his mercy, his favor.

He didn’t have to explain why those who did such were sent to the darkest places- to be ripped apart by creatures of nightmares, living monsters without mind or heart. Loki was the dark prince of Asgard, the one who had been scorned and had to carve a place for himself. You understood, and when he raged, pain flicking behind green or red eyes you went to his side, holding his hand until his fury passed.

The first time you reached out to him, he’d flinched, yelling at you that he was not to be placated by a woman’s touch, much less that from you. Yet when you winced at his cruel words, he scoffed, demanding you to sit in his lap. You had done so hesitantly but once seated, he ran his fingers in your hair, took deep breaths when he burred his face to your neck. He found a form of solace in your presence, and so you gave it. For a month things went as such. Half your day in Jotunheim, helping mend the realm and grow the branches of Yggdrasil. The other half of the day in Niflheim, hearing the souls of the fallen, and oddly enough, overseeing the various goods that were produced. For the realm of the dead, some beings did ‘live’ and there were items worth trading. Yet, even such mundane business was typical to put Loki on edge, having to look upon those he killed, those who shunned him, despised him, and some who refused to even acknowledge him- the pain and hurt in his eyes when he saw his eldest brother the one who had died when he was a boy, so hateful and cruel in his berating of Loki… You held his hand, reached to run your hands in his hair and down his neck. He didn’t stop you then. By then you and he had a strange accord. 

He held you, pet you, and you did the same to him. It was not sexual, not a matter of a concubine and her master, but of someone who needed comfort, and a person who understood the need for it and why. You and he had for lack of a better term come closer. He never asked you to stay by his side as he managed the realm, yet you did. Only after a month and a half passed did he leave you to work in his stead, no longer to mend the tree but rather a realm.   
So you did. You listened kindly as you could, and tried to disconcert what souls deserved agony, and what other were to only be left to exist until the rebirth after Ragnarok. It was nice in a fashion, to do such work. Loki trusted you that deeply, and, you found it somewhat liberating to be around the dead who could not scorn you nor hate you by virtue of your birth.

Loki was… strange however. He’d moved your things, (few as they were), to his room, and you were to sleep there now. He didn’t bring lovers back with him, and when you brought it up he’d given you a look.  
“Do you wish for me to bring my whores here?”   
He’d never called them whores before that moment; paramours, partners, lovers yes but perhaps you’d been wrong about how he felt for them? Maybe they were just a means to an end, like you. Yet his manner did little to explain his sudden desire to have you close, or his ever growing trust in you. It had indeed, almost been a year, and while thing had gotten better only in the last months had they truly improved. 

He ate meals with you, brought you books and trinkets from Midgard. He’d asked what you missed most and when you told him you missed hotdogs of all things, he’d brought back a package of them. When you asked why he’d done so, he said,   
“Do I need a reason to give you something my concubine?” Yet the title held no heat or scorn. It was playful now. Teasing.   
Loki seemed to have changed and it was unsettling.

Your nerviousness came to a head when he announced he had to attend Thor’s nameday celebration and he needed a companion for the evening.   
He, specifically, needed you.

“I’m- Your majesty, I’m exiled!” You had wailed in terror, trembling in his, (and your) room, the light seafoam gown swirling around you as you paced. “King Thor will- he- Please, do not ask this. Let me stay. I’ll do anything do not make me-“  
Loki huffed at your fear, grabbing you arm and dragging you to his bed, picking you up to have you sit across his lap like an oversized kitten.  
“You think I will allow Thor to touch you? Much less any mortal?” He scoffed, green eyes angry. “You are my concubine. Mine.” He hissed, fingers running up your back till they reached you hair, combing it free of tangles.  
“As my concubine it is within my right to bring you, your standing in Asgard aside. So long as you remain with me, it will not be an issue.” His smile was wicked, eyes alight with mischief.   
“And I look forward to you sitting in my lap, feading me delicate morsels while Thor seethes, unable to say or do a thing.” You sputtered, wiggling to escape him when you felt it.

The firm press of him at your bottom, molding perfectly to the cleft of your ass and making a heat rush to your face and to your sex. Loki hadn’t made any indication he felt such- you dismissed it as accidental. From your movements. But then he leaned to whisper in your ear, hot breath tickling your skin.  
“Tell me to stop and I shall my little mongrel.” His hand ran to your sides, loose yet firm. If you pushed off you could run, or, if you relaxed, he’d pull you closer.  
“No matter your choice, our arraignment does not change. Not unless you want it too.” You gasped as his lips sucked on your earlobe, the heat in you growing, a slick wetness forming between your thighs.

“I can smell you my pet.” His skin had turned cobalt, and you mewled as his mouth moved to suck on your neck.  
“Tell me to stop, or ask me for more-“ His teeth grazing your skin made you jolt, stumbling out of his lap, cock barely confined behind his leathers. Red eyes burned into you, demanding an answer.

“I-“ You were afraid. He was a prince, a king- he would never want a half-breed. Much less the child of a criminal.  
“I don’t know.”

Loki stood, a cold fury brewing in him.   
“You, exiled from Asgard, traveler of the nine realms say you do not know what you desire?” He stepped forward as you shakingly stood. “You are an Asgardian-“  
“I’m a freak!” You shouted as him, self loathing boiling over. He didn’t care for you, not really. You were a tool, a means to an end, and now, he’d degrade you further, making you his toy. “A monster that shouldn’t exist! You said it yourself! I’m an abomination! A mongrel- a bastard that should never have been born!” Your tears fell, hitting the stone floor with a clatter, drops of ice from salt water.

‘You are my-“  
“I’m nothing!” You screamed, reaching for the branches. They were there, at your fingertips, ready to id your fleeing, to grant you an escape.

“You are mine.” Loki snarled, his magic slamming down, braking every branch around you.  
“You are my concubine and soon, my consort!” His rage was a sight to behold. Green and gold magic rippling around him, blue skin glowing with his power, his eyes red like blood, demanding your submission.

He grabbed you and pulled you to his chest.   
“I have not spent these last months courting you to have you flee at the first sign of that thunderous oaf, or at the first signs of my desire. You are mine- you will BE mine!” 

His kiss was all fire and heat. Lust and hate and want- You whimpered when it ended and he left you in the room, a command to ready yourself to travel to Asgard, half blood or not. 

You wept, because no longer did you understand your place within the service to the only royal who’d ever wanted you to stay by his side.


	9. Daughter of Midgard

The gentle touch in the afterglow was warm. Even as the snow fell around the both of you, your lover was warm, and the frozen chill never was felt. In that moment, as you knew him- his warmth, his soft touch, his love- you felt happy, at peace. Because that was what it was. Love. He’d been cruel in his love, yet it was love that kept him close to you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he ran fingers up and down your side as he watched you, red eyes burning with the gentle flame of love. Magic was intrinsic, and his cradled you, shielding you from the wind and ice, his magic soothed the hurts of your hard and frantic coupling. His magic wrapped around you, offering you the touch of a lover who knew you.

The branches of Yggdrasil were glittering in the starlight, a crystalline rainbow that was reflected in the Bifrost. The tree’s branches held you and your lover as you allowed yourself to surrender, to become his and as he became your’s.  
“You are perfect my love.” His kiss was like breathing in fresh air, invigorating, awakening. “You deserve more than realms of ice and death. You deserve more than what fate gave you.” He mourned as he touched your skin. Warm, pink, you were not like him. You were born a mortal’s child, weak and flail in the face of the harshness of Jotunheim. Your Asgardian blood keeping you warm but only just. You were not made for a place that demanded sacrifice and ruthlessness. You were a spring bloom, growing radiant in sunlight. That was how your lover saw you as you smiled, curling into his body, wrapping yourself in his arms.

“I am sorry.” He whispered, moving away from you, tears hot in your eyes as you understood his mournful kiss. As the branches began to carry you from him, away.  
“I am sorry, to have loved you.”

***  
One Month Earlier  
***

Loki’s confession was a nightmare. Not because he thought he loved you, that his selfish acts were loving- but that you saw them for what they were-they were genuine. Loki did as he wished, and he wanted you to become his consort. You had spent that night alone, terrified of sleep for fear he would return to press his claim. For that was what he could rightly demand. No matter how you wished you could deny him, you had agreed. His concubine. His. That alone had a different meaning on Jotunheim than other realms.

Yet he did not return that night. Rather he sent two frost giantesses to attend to you, helping you bath and dress to be presentable for your return to Asgard- the return to the home denied to you. To the world that would capture you, use you, then cast you aside. Midgard and Asgard were places of damnation, yet Loki intended to march you back on his arm like a prize.

 

The dress was a stunning piece, more Midgardian than Asgardian with its low back and thigh high slit. It displayed you, and the shade of green complimented Loki’s own regalia. The golden jewelry that decorated you was made to accent the collar at your throat, the only ring one upon your left hand, symbolic to those who knew Midgardian custom. Your hair done in soft curls, your skin dusted with fine gold powder to make you glow, the makeup faint and lipstick red. You were made a woman of desire, a figure to draw men’s attention and lust.  
To satisfy the desire Loki had to see of his would be consort. 

The last touch had been a diadem, gold with glittering shards of crystal that looked of ice and caught the light at every turn. A mockery of a crown- Loki was not attending as Thor’s brother, but as King of Jotunheim, King of Niflheim. He would return as king, and demand his own brother to bow to him. 

“Your majesty.” The title spoken softly in his presence, you’d been taken from the rooms to his side outside Utgard, waiting the Bifrost. He stood in full armor and regalia. His skin cobalt and eyes a bloody red. The Frost Giant King- the stolen prince.  
“…” His silence was worse than anything, unease filling you alongside dread. You stood by his side, obedient, knowing that it was too late. He’d shut down your magic, he knew it too well now, he knew what to sense, to look for. You couldn’t escape him even if you tried.  
“After today, you will have a choice.” The hum of the Bifrost, even worlds away resonated with the branches, and you inched closer to your king out of trepidation. “If you feel that you can risk returning to Midgard and Asgard, I will not stop you. But if you stay here, you will be mine.” He turned as the light of the Bifrost swallowed you both.  
“You will be completely mine.”

 

The lurch as you landed upon the soft grass of Asgard was sudden, and your hand grasped Loki’s bicep for stability. Around you, the golden armored knights stood, spears pointed to you and their prince. Loki made no move, only a cold, arrogant sneer upon his visage.  
“Is this how you would welcome your prince? A king?” His voice boomed, and you clung to him as the knights moved closer, spears waivering.  
“The woman beside you is a wanted criminal your highness. She cannot be allowed to enter. On orders of the King-“  
“This woman is my companion for the festivities, and, she will offer no harm or threat so long as she is by my side.” His hand reached down, pulling your hair back to display the collar. The knights remained steadfast. Loki’s patience sid not.  
“If you insist on insulting me and my companion, I’ll be sure to relate to Thor just what etiquette dictates, or has he forgotten that in his time ruling without assistance?” The venom was thick in his voice, and finally, like the sea, the knights parted, the golden god of thunder making his way to his brother. 

“Loki!” Thor bellowed, embracing him, ignoring you. The small terrified squeak went unnoticed by the thundered, but not by the king of monsters. “I’m glad you could make it. I- Loki.” Seen, you tried to hide behind the prince of Asgard, to evade it’s king/ Yet Loki grinned and grabbed you, dragging you to the front, captured in his embrace.  
“She’s beautiful isn’t she?” He purred, making a show of touching your bare arms. “To think, a gem like her was exiled because her mother is a criminal. A tragic waste of talent… and of beauty.” His kiss upon your neck was electric, fear and something else mixing low in your gut.  
“She’s a criminal Loki.” Thor warned.  
“Of no true crime. She is also my companion for the festivities, and will be utterly obedient.” Red eyes burned into you. “Won’t you my love?” The words chilled you to the core, and even had Thor drawing back in shock.

“Yes.” It was easy to agree, to accept the statement. “I will be good.” It was easy to agree because it was true. “Master.” The title, the admission, the feeling he drew finally given name. Desire. Loki was giving more contact to you than you’d gotten in months, and it made you all to aware of your own lusts long buried. 

Thor had frowned, but spoke no more of it.  
And true to his word, Loki kept you upon his lap, had you feed him delicacies and sweet wines, he had you on display as his obedient pet. His concubine. Yet he never called you such.  
He called you his sweet love the entire night.

Asgardians quelled at the sight of him, blue skinned and red eyed. They stole glances as he smiled with a mouth full of fangs. They shied away as he touched you, kissed your skin, as he showed his contempt for his own brother’s nameday.

“Why?’ you dared ask him as the celebrations died down. “Why are you doing this?” Loki hummed, his fingers tracing small circles into you back.  
“You know, the day my brother exiled you, I realize it was my fault you were identified as Amora’s child.” He spoke so casually of it, and the breath was stolen from your throat.  
“I was the one who ran the tests you see, and when you came up, I had a choice. I could lie, and allow you to find sanctuary, solace in Asgard, the eldest and most powerful of all the half-blooded children. Yet I told the truth. I revealed you, knowing it would see you suffer. I knew it was wrong, yet… I wanted to test him, to see if he was ready and worthy in my own eyes to be a king.”

Loki sighed heavily, adjusting you both so you were closer, tucked away in his arms.  
“So he banished you, having done no crime, from the wrongs of a woman you didn’t know, of deeds done far in the past. I thought, if my brother can banish an innocent woman on a whim, on his own pride and loathing, he will never be able to be trusted by his people. He will never be able to be completely trusted by me.”  
“So that’s what I was? A test? My life… for your piece of mind?” You accuse, tears finally spinning free.  
“A test- which he failed.” The kiss was soft and delicate, a secret hidden behind the revelry. “A test which you passed, proving that you are far better than any other. You, who has survived the nine realms; you, who was faced with injustice and death yet did not seek vengeance. You, who fears her own heart and the thought she might be loved and feared in equal measure by a god and a king.”

Loki carried you back to the Bifrost site, hidden in his arms, under his magic.  
“You proved you are greater than your mother’s legacy. Greater than the blood of Asgard.” He kissed you when you were brought back to his chambers, laid upon the bed and held close as sleep began to take you. “You are made for a better fate than the one the norns had made for you.”

He smiled, and for the first time, he looked happy. “And so that will be my absolution. I give you the freedom to choose your own fate.”

Months later, as you brush your hair, looking to the realm of ice and death, you recalled his words, spoken softly. Honestly.  
“Stay, let me love you, court you, win you as my consort and queen. Or go, return to your home a free woman, the crimes absolved. After tonight, Amora is no more, and you can no longer be hated for her blood.” You were afraid, so afraid because you saw him. You heard his truths. You felt his magic and yours mixing, mingling, merging.  
“Let me love you, as only I can.”

 

You stayed, because there was nothing left for you on Asgard. Nothing to call you back to Midgard.  
Here, in a realm not meant for you, you had the first glimmers of a future. Of being wanted.

The daughter of Midgard, an unwanted child, kissed the king of monsters, and embraced the love you feared would spell your own doom.


	10. Mother of Vanaheim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth will out, and fate will have it's due.

You weep. Alone, he sent you away to protect you, to keep you from the tragic truths. The harsh fate that awaited you if he would love you and you return such feelings. He took you, ravished you wild and untamed, filled you with his seed and his magic, giving you the only gifts he could. You carried with you the sorrow of loneliness, the pain of your heart. Months ago, his vows, his words. You stayed for him, kissed him, let him court you and love you- and you came to accept his love. After that first time, running from his command, his warning of inciting his lust to where he would ravish and take you in the very wilds if you did not cease to tease him-  
Yet you had. You teased him until he snapped, chasing you like a madman across the frozen tundra of Jotunhiem until he captured you, mounted you, and gave you proof of his love. Then- in the afterglow, in the moments following that final act, the culmination of desire, he pushed you into the arms of Yggdrasill. He pushed you to the freedom you did not want. 

On the soil of Asgard, you cried out for him, brought to Thor for answers you could not provide.  
But the King who’s hatred had tempered- he looked upon you, weeping in loss, in terrible knowledge- and did not turn you away anymore. You were home he said. ‘Welcome to Asgard my sister.’  
Yet the words were hollow and empty. The man you loved was worlds away, and he’d cut his realms from your reach, freezing the branches of the tree and posting guards to turn you away at the roots. None could get to him- not even Thor.

You could not stay in Asgard. The glimmering golden city remade on Midgard. A shadow of itself. A mockery of all you had yearned and wished for once- yet Loki had shown you the truth of it. Pulled back that curtain to show you that no matter what, you were other, outsider. So you went to the realm you only gone once to. Vanaheim.

A realm that had given you hope once. Hope, in the form of a woman who saw in you something you did not. The burden of your power, and the fate it carried.

“Oh child.” She had whispered to you in the tiny cottage, fire glowing bright as you added another oak log to the embers. “Once, we would have welcomed you, lifted up upon a pedestal. But the volva are no more- gone to realm of the Norns. To become apart of Valhalla. A place where even I must one day go, never to sit at the table and feast- but to the table of my sisters weaving the fabrics of fate as all others do.”

Her remorseful smile was so bittersweet. Her kindness then had left a mark. She was nothing like what you expected. A dignified woman who carried with her a terrible and wonderful gift. To see fate, the future yet unable to speak of it. As you wove branches and roots, so she wove fates and destinies. One day, she would fade from the realms and enter another unreachable even by you. She would become Norn. Fate itself. Something that would also befall you one day, when your own heart stopped beating. 

Now, returned to the cottage, you looked to the tiny blanket she’d given you. It had been too small and for you then as a child. She said you would need it one day. The blue still vibrant and shimmering with gold and greens. A baby blanket. The runes for protection and cold- his markings etched into the embroidery.  
Frigga had been a mother first, a fate second. She had known then, your fate. Known the fate of the child she’d made her son. Known all along the sorrow of what would come yet had been forced to keep her silence, only able to grant the smallest of comforts.  
A baby blanket, for the child who would be born without their father.

She was perfect.  
Ten fingers, ten toes. Eyes bright green of emerald oceans. Skin pink and flush with red blood until she settled, a warm peach that reflected your human and Asgardian heritage. Yet she had his nose. The faint pale markings that he carried in Jotar form faintly on her skin like a birthmark. Strong and smiling she entered the world, not a scream but laughter heralding her first breath.  
She was your victory, your triumph. The product of your love for a man who’s own love was a poison. 

A man who you would find abandoned Jotunheim and Niflheim, returning to Asgard.  
Leaving you alone- mother of his child, the heir of three kingdoms. Regent Mother. Consort-Concubine of the errant King. 

You ruled. Alone.  
You slept alone. You wept alone. You fed your child, alone. The giants and the dead listened only because you had what they needed. The heir. A future not yet written not yet woven.

A future that ended in sorrow as you looked to him, and knew in your heart why he’d sent you away. The crown of ice on your brow was too cold. Your daughter too human, too Asgardian. She would die, as would you. You were not a queen- you were a woman who had a right to choose- yet the choice to be his was one he would deny you.  
“I can’t let you do this.” He said. “I cannot allow you and our daughter to suffer because of who, of what I am.”  
“Then I am to be alone? We are to be alone, without you? She will never know her sire? Her father?”

Loki smiled so soft and fragile. His hand cupped your face. “You know the path you must take. The road only you can make. You know my love-“ Tears are hot as they run down your face.  
“They told me- the mother of Vanaheim. They saw her in you- by her side. Ragnarök has passed, as so have the souls and fates begun the cycle anew. You were never meant to be mine. You were never made for me.” It hurt. The truth hurt.

“Weaver- I saw and I knew- Sigyn.” Her name, her fate. You were not her- a remnant of her. A poor rebirth, a lacking being half made for a new life until another Ragnarök.  
“I was not sure, but I realized it over time. The tree was your tapestry. The fate you could craft and create. My love- my fate.” Tears glitter and you hold your child close between you.  
“She is beautiful-“ He smiles and you can hear his heart shattering. 

“Frigga, my mother. A child of Vanaheim- born from fate. From the Norns.” He kissed you.  
“I love you.” The words echo between you. You know it would come to this. 

“Take her. Love her. Mend the tree and give the roots a firm hold my love. Give us another fate, another chance. Let me try again.”

“You know.” You whisper. “You always know, and before even I do.”

Sigyn, Loki’s wife. Patron of weavers. Norns, weavers of fate. The trickster god who wed the most powerful woman in the cosmos- and neither of them could change their own destinies, their own fates. Bound to know and never act on their terrible knowledge and truth. 

Forever lovers, forever fated, because what time they would have was always cut short. 

“She’ll be loved Loki.” You tell him. “I will love her so much-“  
“I know you will. And she-“  
“She will love you too, when she finds you again.” 

He laughs.  
“I will find you again.” He promises. He always promises. The world begins to slip away. Falling into fragments. His crown shimmers and he shifts. Not Loki God of Mischief. Loki God of Stories. Loki, trickster. Loki, lover of fate and her ruin as well.

You kiss him goodbye and walk down the path you wove long ago. 

Sigyn, patron of weavers, fated. Lover of Chaos in all his forms.  
Master of Yggdrasill.  
Fate. Norn. Mother. Lover. Sister. Queen. 

You look to him one last time before you move to the new universe. To the realms reborn. Your child handed off to take her place as princess of Vanaheim. One day, she will love him, and know her role.  
Mother of fate. Seer of trues and futures. Allmother.

You smile to yourself. Taking your place. This time, you hope will be better than the last.  
This time you hope.  
You hope this time you can kiss him, and not feel your heart break in knowing he will die. Because this time he will.  
And nothing will be the same after The Snap.


End file.
